


it must be nice to love someone (who lets you break them twice)

by whtelephant



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Cheating, Emotional Infidelity, F/M, Figuring Things Out Kind of?, Fix-It of Sorts, Future Fic, they're messy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:40:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23327155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whtelephant/pseuds/whtelephant
Summary: He turns to look at her, maybe hoping to catch her in a lie, before realising that he probably wouldn’t be able to spot the telltale signs anymore. His hazel eyes meet her green ones, and his chest suddenly hurts with something he hasn’t felt in years. He still forces a smile past his lips.
Relationships: Scott Moir & Tessa Virtue, Scott Moir/Tessa Virtue
Comments: 22
Kudos: 85





	it must be nice to love someone (who lets you break them twice)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: this is a work of fiction that doesn't reflect at all how I feel or what I think about Scott, or Tessa, or their personal/professional relationship.
> 
> I started writing this a year ago, but never got around to edit it and finish it, but since I've got quite a bit of free time on my hands these days, I thought I'd finally work on it and post it. 
> 
> This fiction deals with cheating and emotional infidelity, so I understand if that is not your cup of tea. I'd love if you'd give it a shot, and let me know what you think in the comments.

He watches her from the corner of his eye as she laughs in the passenger seat, trying to keep the bit of coconut water she just sipped in her mouth. 

He shakes his head at her amused disbelief. 

“I swear that’s what happened.”

She laughs harder. 

“And then he had the nerve to tell me I don’t look a day over 25.”

She’s now breathless, the melodic sound of her laugh, filling his minivan. She snorts softly between one fit of laughter and the other, and then turns around and covers his hand with hers, the most serious expression she can muster on her face.

“I’m sure he meant it.”

He stops in front of his house, puts the car in park and turns towards her just in time to catch her expression morphing from one of faux seriousness to a delighted one. He joins her, shaking his head and laughing at his own misadventures, his hand turning, his palm meeting hers. She gives it a quick squeeze and let's go, fetching her phone from the pocket of the denim jacket resting on her knees, to check the time.

Her SUV sits on the side of his driveway next to the empty flowerbeds that were supposed to be filled with winter roses but never were; it's white and freshly polished, a stark contrast with his wife’s rain-streaked, red convertible occupying the spot next to it. He sighs. 

“Wanna come in? We made pot roast — I mean, mom made pot roast. It’s probably getting reheated in the oven right about now, I think.”

She shakes her head and gives him a small smile.

“I’d love to, but I can’t. I’m taking the 7:40 back to Toronto.”

He turns to look at her, maybe hoping to catch her in a lie, before realising that he probably wouldn’t be able to spot the telltale signs anymore. His hazel eyes meet her green ones, and his chest suddenly hurts with something he hasn’t felt in years. He still forces a smile past his lips.

“You better hurry, then!”

She nods, and her hand briefly touches his knee as she plants a quick, soft, chaste kiss on his cheek. 

His eyes close on instinct, and everything seems to slow down. He suddenly feels overwhelmed by the sensory response his body is having to the unexpected proximity of the woman he’s spent three-quarters of his life touching. He feels her soft hair on his face, smells the intoxicating scent of her skin mixed with whatever body lotion she’s using these days. He wouldn’t be surprised to see a burn mark on the spot of his face where her lips have landed with such a featherlight touch.

He has to grip the stirring wheel to ground himself. 

And just like that, she’s out of his car, retrieving the small carry-on from the trunk. 

A smile still plays her lips, as she lifts her skating bag to her shoulder. After quickly adjusting the strap, she stops in front of his open window and cocks her head. 

“See you Monday morning?”

He nods, and waves like an idiot, not trusting his voice. 

xx

She smiles between a tiny sip of hot sake and the next. 

“I’m glad you agreed to do this tour. I didn’t think you were going to.”

He feels euphoric. He’s been feeling this way since they’ve stepped on the ice in Japan three weeks before. He doesn’t think his skating has been this good in years, since even before they announced their retirement and stopped skating together; he doesn’t think their chemistry has been either. 

“You know, this is the happiest I’ve been in a while.”

He can see his confession takes her by surprise, and he wonders if maybe he’s been getting too comfortable, fooling himself into thinking they could easily fall back into the same rhythm they thought felt like imprisonment no longer than five years before. He’s afraid of getting back to that point, but he also desperately longs to feel that familiarity again; that feeling of safety and utter completeness he’s lost as soon as they bid their partnership goodbye and pretended skating together had been nothing more than a job. He wonders if she feels the same way every once in a while, or if he’s been misinterpreting the situation in his head for the past two months; from the moment she’s asked him if he’d be game to go on a 6-week-long skating tour across Japan, just like they did before everything fell apart. 

He’s relieved when she finally puts down the small ceramic glass and looks at him, the glint in her eyes sparkling like a diamond under in the candlelight. 

“This is the happiest I’ve been in a while, too.”

He tries to ignore how his heart starts beating just a little bit faster. 

He stares at her, as she looks around and takes in the surroundings, her white pearly teeth softly biting her lower lip, her index finger on her chin. 

“Didn’t we stay in this exact hotel? I mean… six years ago.”

Her gaze quickly meets his as he finishes speaking, and he feels himself blush. She turns to stare at the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, focusing on who knows what spot in the bright Tokyo skyline. 

They never talk about the past. Especially not the months that followed their win in Pyeongchang. He doesn’t know if it’s because they are too afraid or too willing to live it all again. 

He sees the red and yellow lights of the Tokyo Tower in the distance, and he can’t help the memories that flood back into his head like a wild river that the dam of his will can’t contain any longer. He remembers the soft, silky skin of her back under his warm hands, as he fucked her against her bedroom’s wall, her strong legs wrapped around his waist, the only source of light tinted in these very same colours. He squirms in his chair and tries to think of something else. Anything but that. 

His eyes finally meet hers again, and she smirks. 

She smirks, and he has the very uncomfortable feeling that she still can read every thought crossing his mind. 

xx

He turns around to face her, his index finger clumsily hitting the screen of his tablet in an attempt to stop the video playing. He chuckles when she puts him out of his misery, and stops it herself on the first try, with a teasing eye roll. 

“So, what do you think?”

“I think it’s great. They’re so talented, and… It’s a beautifully crafted program. They’ve improved so much; their Choctaws are so much better than ours were at their age; it’s impressive. You should really be proud, Scott.”

He smiles bashfully at her praising. 

“Got any feedback?”

Her head cocks to the side. He can see she’s looking for the right words, or maybe for a gentle way to let him know that his newest junior team’s progress doesn’t interest her at all. 

“I’d love to see them in person.”

He’s taken aback, and he’s sure his surprise is written all over his face. 

“I mean, if you want me to.”

He nods enthusiastically, and can’t help the huge smile that threatens to split his face in two. He thinks of a time when this was everything he wanted. She and him, Virtue-and-Moir. Still working in tandem towards a goal. He thinks of how close he got to have it all, and his smile falters for a second, but he recovers quickly and gives her shoulder a friendly squeeze he hopes is enough to mask the sudden melancholy he’s felt. 

“When can I come by the Cricket?”

Her willingness surprises him.

“Anytime. You’re Tessa Virtue. The Tessa Virtue. You could walk into any rink in the country at any time of the day, and someone would keep it open for as long as you want.”

She blushes, shaking her head, and he follows the rosey colour spreading from her face to her chest with his eyes. The freckles on her sternum are almost invisible now that she has a golden summer glow, and he has to take a deep breath and fist his hands to stop himself from thinking about the way he used to connect those countless tiny dots on her body with his fingertips as she laid naked next to him.

xx

He wakes up with a start, and it takes him a few seconds to realise he’s on a plane. The tinted plastic divisor is up between his and her fully reclined business class seats, and an insistent knocking is coming from the other side.

He fumbles in the dimly lit pod, looking for the button to lower the offending divisor, and after he accomplishes his mission, he’s met by clear green eyes and a frown. 

“I can’t sleep. It’s like 40 degrees in this cabin.”

He swallows as he takes a few seconds to look at her. Her hair is messy, and he can clearly see the outline of her nipples through her white, cotton tank top. 

“Do you want some water?”

He feels stupid for asking. If water were what she wanted, she could have asked one of the flight assistants herself. 

She shrugs and looks away, biting her lower lip, and he feels like he’s just failed a test.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I woke you up. Just… Go back to sleep. I’ll read a book or something.”

He stares at the divisor as it slowly rises back up, and Tessa is nothing but a foggy silhouette behind it. Then he brings his hands to his face and sighs. 

He thinks of another lifetime when he would have quirked his eyebrows, pointed to the cramped plane bathroom, and let her go first only to knock on the plastic door 30 seconds later. He thinks how he would have turned her around to face the mirror so he could make eye contact with her as he fucked her from behind. 

He swallows, clenching his jaw in an attempt to forget the vivid images his brain is supplying. He can hear her moving on the other side of the divisor; he’s tempted to knock on it but stops himself mid-action. 

_What’s the point_ , he reasons. 

He closes his eyes, trying to tune out the quiet, frustrated sighs, that sound a lot like soft moans, escaping his skating partner’s lips. 

He can’t fall back asleep for the rest of the flight. 

xx

He gets into the assigned train car just in time, slightly out of breath. 

Running a hand through his hair, he dries the small beads of sweat that have formed on his forehead after running from his Uber through the station, to reach the platform. He can’t remember ever experiencing such a warm October before, and he ponders briefly on whether he should actually join that global warming campaign he remembers getting offered, even though being in front of the camera has become more and more uncomfortable with each passing year. 

He's relieved to notice the train isn't too busy; there are many empty seats in the car. He counts the rows of seats as he walks, and quickly scans the electronic ticket on his phone with his eyes to double-check the number of his assigned seat. He has to blink repeatedly and shake his head to make sure he’s not hallucinating when he finds Tessa, her nose between the pages of a worn-out paperback, in the seat across the aisle from his. 

He touches her shoulder softly to get her attention, and she looks up. Her eyes widen, and her eyebrows furrow at first, as she gives him a questioning look, then she smiles and pats the empty seat next to her. 

He shakes his head and points at the seat on the opposite row to hers.

“I’m sitting here.”

She rolls her eyes at him and lets out a soft chuckle.

“You’re such a boy scout.”

He smirks, huffing quietly as he lifts his backpack to the overhead compartment, and then folds his coat neatly, placing it on top of it; he then puffs his chest cockily sitting down next to her with a wicked smirk.

“I feel like such a rebel right now.”

She punches his shoulder, shaking her head at his mock outrage and faux overdramatic pained expression, and takes out a ripped boarding pass from the back of her book on which he manages to read the word ‘Athens’ before she places it face down between the two pages where she’s stopped reading, as a bookmark. She then turns towards him, her hand gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“Going home on a Thursday?”

He smiles.

“Tracy is in Croatia with the teams, and… well, it’s Charlie’s 40th birthday tomorrow, so I thought I’d head back one day earlier to help mom with you know, all the cooking, and prepping and stuff.”

She gasps, her eyes bulging in surprise. 

“Forty?! What? Oh, Fuck. That's... That's old. I’m going to text him later.”

“He’d appreciate that.”

She grins.

“I’ll make sure to make him feel ancient. I still haven’t forgiven him for that disastrous birthday dinner in 2005!”

“It wasn’t even your birthday, Tess. We just wanted free dessert!”

She mock glares at him, and he chuckles. 

“God, we’re really getting old.”

She sighs and nods at his words.

“Yeah, yeah we are.”

He shakes his head and pokes her arm with his index finger.

“You’re still closer to your 20s, though. You’re the least old out of us kids.”

He looks at her slender fingers as she presses them to the back of her neck, moving her head forwards and the backward, a straight line appearing between her eyebrows. 

“My body would disagree.”

He has to bite his tongue to refrain from saying something stupid and completely inappropriate like _your body is amazing._

He fetches his phone out of his pocket, unsurprised when he sees two missed calls from his wife. He notices Tessa’s eyes dart towards the screen, and he wonders what she must be thinking about; they still don’t talk about significant others, even though the ring on his finger is hard to ignore, and her face and her long term boyfriend’s are often splattered on many Canadian tabloids every few weeks or so. He’s not surprised when she quickly turns her head and focuses on the colourful fall landscape passing by. 

Sighing, he shoves his phone back in his jacket pocket and turns his attention back to her.

“How’s the family?”

She shrugs her shoulders, her arm colliding with his as she moves to cross her legs and face him.

“Everybody’s good. Mum’s getting over a terrible cold — that’s why I’m heading back, actually. Jordan was there until yesterday but she had to get back to the city…” she sighs. “And yeah, we’re all getting old. Poppy’s turning 10 next week. Can you believe it?”

He swallows audibly, his mind taking him back to a warm summer day on the lake, the cheeky then four years old clinging to his neck, and calling him uncle Scott, asking Tessa to spell their names on the sand with her finger. 

He can tell she’s thinking about the very same moment by how her smile falters, and her hand looks for purchase on the hard plastic armrest between them, finding it already taken by his arm. She squeezes his wrist then, and he looks at her. He sees a hint of sadness and resignation in her eyes that scares him and makes him want to go back in time to savour those moments of utter domesticity that they took for granted. 

He thinks of the fine sand underneath his toes, and the warm sun caressing his shoulders, as he rested his head on her lap. Her blue bikini matching the colour of the lake that seemed to merge with the sky in the distance — blue meeting blue, her hand softly threading through his hair. If he closes his eyes he can almost feel it, and he thinks she can, too. 

He’s brought back to the present by the soft weight of her head and her shaky breath on the warm nook between his neck and his shoulder. He rests his head on hers, and closes his eyes, allowing himself to feel the kind of comfort he’s pretended no to need for the better part of the past half a decade. 

xx

He sees her standing by the boards in a rather formal burgundy dress, and a long black coat. He can’t see her feet, but he’s sure she’s wearing heels. Her skin is tanned and glowing; a stark contrast to the sterile whiteness of the rink. She smiles as they make eye contact, and gives him a small wave he promptly reciprocates as he skates towards her. 

“This is a nice surprise.”

“My meeting got rescheduled; thought I’d stop by. Is that okay?”

He grins and nods, and then turns to his team, still working on a lift at center ice.

“Wanna meet them?”

She shakes her head.

“Let them finish doing their thing. You know how annoying it is when someone interrupts you mid-task.”

He considers her words, then nods with a fond smile. _They did hate that._

“How was Mexico?”

She tries to hide the faint blush colouring her cheeks by looking away. His gaze drops to her left hand to check for any sign of a ring, and he hates himself for being relieved when he doesn’t find one. 

“It was great. Warm, sunny, full of beautiful beaches and beach bars serving fruity cocktails…”

He chuckles.

“Sounds nice. London got hit with 40 centimeters of snow while you were gone.”

“I heard. That’s what finally got Kevin to hire a snow plowing service to clean his driveway instead of doing it himself. His back wasn’t happy.”

He laughs, feeling sympathy. 

“God, this place looks just like it did when we came here the first time to get David to choreograph a program for us.

He chuckles again and points at the flags hanging from the ceiling. 

“I think a few countries were added since then.”

She gives him a suspicious look, and he wonders if she’s going to call him out on his bullshit TCC trivia, but she just shakes her head. 

“I was observing you for a bit… You really look in your element out there, coaching. It was great to witness that.”

He scratches his temple awkwardly, slightly embarrassed by her complimenting him, and not quite sure what to respond. 

“I guess I’m not too bad at it.”

She gives him a serious look, and he can tell she still doesn’t appreciate his self-deprecation. 

“I’ve always known you’d be amazing at it. A natural; just like you were at skating.”

He hits her shoulder playfully, mostly because he can’t handle hearing her talk about him like this -- like she still thinks he’s special even after everything. 

He takes a deep breath, and then turns his back towards the boards, swiftly jumping, and sitting precariously on the boards, finding balance with the help of her shoulder. 

“You should have told me you were coming.”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

For a split of a second he’s worried she might feel like she’s overstepping, so he gives her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“Mission accomplished. You can come by whenever your meetings get cancelled and you’ve got nothing better to do.”

She shakes her head again and then fishes for something in her black purse. 

“Actually, I wanted to give you a little belated Christmas present. I know I’m a few weeks too late, but…”

“We're doing Christmas presents now?”

She rolls her eyes and then hands him both an envelope, and a small bag with tiny Mexican flags printed on it. He opens both eagerly and grins. 

“Rinkside tickets to tonight’s Leafs game AND shot glasses? Oh man, now I really feel bad for not getting you anything.”

She gives him a genuine laugh, and rest her hand on the back of his neck, putting pressure on the side. His heart rate picks up, and he knows she can feel it as she gets closer to whisper in his ear.

“Well, luckily for you my birthday is coming up in just a few short months.”

He turns around to wink at her and is surprised by just how close her face is to his. He clenches his jaw, in an effort to ground himself.

“Noted.”

He looks down at the shiny tickets in his hands, tracing the blue maple leaf with his thumb.

“Hey, would you like to come with me to the game? I mean if you don’t have plans.”

Her smile falters. 

“I’d love to. I just… I have to head to Montreal early tomorrow morning, and I have to finish packing and a speech to practice.”

He can’t help the disappointed look that he knows he's written clearly on his face. He shakes his head, trying to recover. 

“Oh yeah, no worries. I just thought I’d suggest it. I’m sure I can drag one of the guys out and convince them to sit with in one of these terrible, terrible seats.”

She nods, and her hand finally leaves the spot in the back of his neck. He turns around to check on his team, missing the warmth of her skin on his.

“I think they’re done.”

They both smile as he calls them over with his hand, and she waves. Not even the teenager's excited squeals of joy seeing Tessa standing with him by the boards are loud enough for him to miss her long sigh.

xx

“You can just follow me to the old house. I have some hockey gear from the team we were sponsoring, in the basement. I’ll get you a few pucks and whatever else we can find.”

She nods as she heads to her car.

“You’re a lifesaver!”

It’s a short drive from the rink. A right turn, straight through the fields heading north, then a left turn and another left into an unpaved private drive that hasn’t been snow plowed in a few weeks and is now slippery with ice. He sighs in relief when he sees Tessa has successfully managed to pull up right behind him. 

He stops a few meters away from the stairs of the small front porch; a few inches of snow coat the steps, and he wonders what Tessa will think of this big house -- sort of in the middle of nowhere, of his that nobody has ever inhabited. He tries to remember if she’s ever seen it like it’s now. Finished, fully furnished; ready for the family that he was so sure he was ready to have. 

He swallows as he opens the door of his car, and the cold, stingy night air hits his face, shaking him out of that moment of self-pity.

She walks silently behind him as he unlocks the door and turns on the lights in the foyer and the living room. 

He helps her out of her heavy parka, hanging it on the hook next to his, as she admires the rustic, wall mounted coat rack over the shoe cabinet. 

“This is beautiful. Charlie made it?”

He shakes his head as he observes her tracing the wooden frame and the small green and blue mosaic tiles forming a colourful pattern in the middle of it. 

“I did.”

She looks at him, her eyes widening. 

“Do you remember the beach glass I collected from the shores of Lake Huron? That’s it. That’s what I’ve done with it.”

Her fingertips stop on a particularly shiny bead, as green as her eyes, and he hears the shaky breath she lets out.

“Oh…”

She keeps quiet as she continues lightly tracing the small pieces of levigated glass, an unreadable look on her face.

He clears his throat to get her attention and heads towards the kitchen. 

“I don’t have much here, but do you want a tea or something?”

She shakes her head, taking a seat on one of the high chairs by the kitchen island. He notices her stealing glances around the house that has so obviously never been lived in, probably comparing what she sees with the approximate floor plans he had excitedly shown her years before. 

"I'll get the stuff I've got in storage and then I'll give you a grand tour of the house."

He opens the door connecting the kitchen to the garage to look for the hockey gear he’s promised her, his hand blindly trying to find the light switch. 

“Do you have glasses? I’ll take a water.”

He hears her opening a few kitchen cabinets and tries to remember in which one he’s placed glasses and mugs, giving her his best guess. 

“Third door from the right, I think.”

She doesn’t inquire further, and he pats himself on the back. He manages to locate a few dozens spare pucks inside two big, reusable grocery bags, and a few brand new hockey sticks that he gathers under his right arm before heading back to the kitchen. 

He finds her there, standing under the harsh light, her eyes scanning some paper sheets that she’s spread on the kitchen island, coated by a light layer of dust. 

“You’re selling the house.”

It’s not a question, he knows, so he just gives her a noncommittal shrug, a sad smile forming on his face.

“Nobody’s ever lived here, you know. It costs a lot to maintain and renting it just isn’t practical. Not for what I’d get anyways.”

She looks as if she’s swallowed something sour, her brows knit close together, her eyes fixed on the papers in front of her. 

“You can’t sell this house.”

He sighs and walks towards the counter to gather the documents and place them neatly inside the black folder his realtor gave him.

“It’s the best thing. Everybody was right, you know? It was a silly investment, buying all this land, building a house from the ground up… It served its purpose; it gave me something to do post Sochi, but, you know. That’s it. It’s time to let it go.”

“It wasn’t…” 

She shakes her head vehemently, her voice no louder than a whisper, and for a brief second, before she turns around to face the marble countertops, he can swear her eyes are glistening with unshed tears. He files that thought away, afraid to process what that might mean. He is stunned when she quickly walks towards the front door without looking back, and he stays frozen on the spot until he hears her driving away.

xx

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic is from Finneas O'Connell's "Break My Heart Again"


End file.
